thanks folks for all of the great words and encouragement...
um, to put "fear of fixing things" in perspective. It's 1970, i'm 9 years old. I live 1/2 the time on my grandparents farm in Western NY (the other half "in town" with Mom) I have a derelict 1957 Chevy in the weeds as my favorite toy. My Grandfather sees me "working" on the car with imaginary tools (pre internet) and hands me a set of wrenches, a socket set, an old card table, and a "Motor" manual (factory tech level service manual) says have fun, but if you make it run you can have it... Now it's 1972, in two weeks I'm moving to California with Mom and Step Dad, My grandfather in the passenger seat, I'm driving the car down the driveway, onto the dirt road, down the block and back. It was my going away gift. (Two years later we sold the chevy to a local racer who included a "lifetime" pitpass for me.
I blame Grandpa for this issue.. hehe